Warning, I wrote this abut tonight and what will be tomorrow... It is depressing. I don't know if you all will understand it, but yah.
A message typed into the screen, his finger over the button and lightly pushing it-- but not enough to hit it.
A surprisingly realistic fake candle’s shadows dancing on the ceiling from within a dark lantern hanging on the wall.
He stares, not at the screen, but at the flickering light and patterns on display as it nears its fifth hour.
5 hours, and it goes off for 19 hours.
What is the message, and what is important about the light?
What is the message of several ex friends trying to reconcile things all in the same week after, for some, months of non-chat?
Why does he feel so horrible about the one he wants to love-- as in, why, after 3 weeks to the day of non-see, does he feel like all is lost and dead?
What is important about his feelings when he is hurting others because all he knows is the hurt in himself?
And the light flickers on, his finger still on the black button as he just stares at the dance on the ceiling, and his eyes moisten.
Music filters through his thoughts into his mind.
The radio, forgotten once again, plays on.
He feels as if everything is pain, and as if everyone hurts him.
He knows they don’t try to, but it happens.
Today went well (surprisingly,) till the evening hit-- for evening is when he collapses and he is destroyed. Almost every evening.
But this one is worse than usual.
How can he live when he hates himself, when his heart is dying, when loneliness pervades and regret rips through him, when he feels so immoral for something he never wanted, when scars-- physical and mental-- are constant reminders of when God did not really come through even though he cried out and fought so long and hard? How can he live as his life is blown about like a real flame on a real candle flickering in real motion with real currents of air?
Is his life set to end when his own 5 hours are up?
A tear, light and cool, rolls down his cheek. And he takes his finger off the button to wipe it away.
Will all his pain end and fall away to reveal some grand scheme of God’s own design, one to give him life and hope and peace and some thing called lasting, real happiness?
Or is that what he wants to believe from a verse taken out of its real context, a context promising an exiled Israel hope and a future and prosperity.
So is he meant, then, to live in despair? Is he meant to dance in winds till he’s snuffed out? Was this all planned, himself having no real control as an all-knowing God knows it would all happen? Is his entire life just a fake candle, shadows and light all there because that’s how things must be?
Could it be possible that anyone would understand his thoughts? Does anyone really knows his pains? And if so, what good is that when he still feels them? How would it make it better to know that others may feel just like he does? How do they survive when even now he thinks seriously of suicide?
He drove past the lake today-- the big lake, the one known as Lake Michigan.
His town’s pier is low and questionable. People get washed off, and die.
It stretches out pretty far, into open, deep waters.
He had typed the message in response to the need to go to that pier as the waves crash over in the early, oddly snowless, winter.
“If you don’t hear from me again, good luck in life.”
A simple “Mood message” for his handful of Skype contacts.
His newest friend, who doesn’t understand him at all, would be devastated-- after all, he had just that night upset the one sitting there staring at a fake candle as he waits for it to go dark.
But what does it matter when you’re dead? At least, after these years of self-Hell which no one knew about till he took those 30 pills, he’ll finally be over.
And no one would stop him this time, unlike at the bridge-- was it two years ago now?
Every day, and especially the night, is so long… so why do these years of torture go by so quickly?
And why is the candle still flickering on? Isn’t it the fifth hour now?
He checks the time…. He turned it on at a bit past 6 pm. It’s nearly 1 am.
Why has it not ended? It always goes off after 5 hours.
And so he waits for the candle to flicker out, so he can post the message, so in the morning he can go down to the pier, so he can try once more to escape this constant problem called himself-- a problem that has been there for over 19 years, and one he cannot solve.
Is life a game of Russian Roulette? Every time he gets this bad, to where he goes from “okay”-- okay being relative to times such as now-- to “suicidal”-- suicidal, for him, being about to act on it-- is just another spin of the chamber for that one bullet that takes you out.
He switches tabs. He stares at a chat of “friends” who call themselves Christian, which do one feeble-- pathetic-- attempt to show “caring,” in which they then give up because they truly don’t give a damn about others not themselves, or just like they-- why is he different and isolated? Why did his life-circumstances make it so he’d be very unlikely to be “normal?” Or happy regularly? Or even able to take off a well-thought-out and elaborate mask of happiness that is such an easy act it’s now natural?
Some of those “friends” ignore him, often-- and it always seems to be on the times he hurts the worst.
Do people not know that…. Never mind. He finally gave up on thinking that those who seem to value him actually, truly ca--
The dim room goes dark save for a dimmed screen illuminating his grey-looking hands and old blue T-shirt.
The candle is off, and now he stares blindly at the dark corner where it must still hang.
Soon he’ll stare at the waves in the same way, equally as unseeing even with the morning light, as he contemplates deeper than the lake itself.
And the question remains:
Will his 5 hours be up?